My earliest memories... (I didn't call them memories at that time) .. I was 13, or so. No more than that. With no apparent reason (I'm 37 now - there was no internet back then, information didn't come about quite as easily..) I developed a peculiar obsession for the British isles. I drove my mom crazy, kept asking if we could go and visit Scotland, for instance, or Ireland... And one day I woke up earlier than usual, right before sunrise.. and decided to write "a poem". It just came to me, the need to do it, the words I wanted to write.

It wasn't quite a poem, though. It was more like an essay - about my life with my welsh husband. Unfortunately I don't have those pages anymore, my notebook got lost somehow...

Memories flowed like the rain on the hills... A cottage, lonely and well kept. Small and lovely. The loveliest I've ever seen really. I woke up at the crack of dawn to get the house going for the day. There was a warm smell in my room, my husband lay there still sleeping.. oh, to this day the tears swell to my eyes when I recall that rush of words onto the paper, not knowing where it came from, but so, so real... I wrapped a woolen shawl around my shoulders and stood there for a while, looking at him, his hair auburn, glowing in the dim golden light. I touched his bare shoulder and by the life of me I can still feel his skin, the softness and the warmth.

I came downstairs then. I distinctly remember the bedroom being upstairs, and that the stairs where beside a wall, whitewashed I think, and at mid height there is a window, small with rugged edges and dark wood. Outside the world is still at rest, I remember thinking that all the animals are still quiet, it must be very early, and yet it isn't all dark, a pale golden light pouring over everything...

There are some brass artifacts somewhere, they reflect that beautiful light in a soft way...

The kitchen is at the back of the house. I have a big black coal stove there. On a wooden table by the wall there are several jars of marmalade, and they seem to glow, they catch the morning light in a way that makes me feel so, so at home. My home, where I am mistress. My realm.

I light the fire to get the water boiling and the coals smell nice. There's heather in the coal hole, I put it there because I like the smell so much.

I'm making some kind of coffee but it's not coffee, looks similar but doesn't smell the same. I don't know what it is...

My husband comes down. He's naked from the waist up, and I know he's not cold, although the weather is biting... he smiles at me, the smallest of smiles, and sits at the table, watching me go about my things. I feel so peaceful, so full of love.
Not a man of many words, he isn't.. his presence is so wonderfully complete, secure and warm....

At this point something "woke" me. I stopped writing, paused a while, and then... it was gone. Not the feeling, but that tidal flow of thoughts, memories, sounds, smells...

The dreams began. Flitting at first, leaving only a passing strange impression in my mind when I woke up.

A beach in the winter, a very harsh winter with the wind mixing the surf and the rain - my first impressions were just that, an empty beach, grey skies, a kind of uneasiness. Soon after I got out of bed the images were out of mind - not forgotten, just ignored. I remember thinking it strange to wake up with the same impression as the day before (I never had recurring dreams before), but paid no notice; in fact, it was just a beach, no story to it.

Three nights later it got a lot clearer. There’s the beach again, but this time I can hear the wind and smell the sea and feel the biting cold. I see a woman on the beach and I know it’s me, but she looks different. And I can look at myself - the woman - as a third person.

I’m wearing something dark. A shawl or something loose that I cling to. I’m sitting on the sand, my legs tucked under me, folding over in grief. Unspeakable grief. A feeling that nothing, in my present life, has ever caused me. I can’t make a sound but I know there’s a cry stuck in my throat, it hurts… I woke up in tears, breathless. It frightened me because I recognized the beach from my impressions of the previous days.

The second time I had this dream it was a bit longer - the knot in my throat blew into a wild cry, not the romantic sobbing you hear in films, but something scary, coarse, unearthly. Something to match that horrid grief. I know there is an awful sense of loss and death to it, and I woke up feeling so crushed I hardly new where I was. There were other memories flashing through my mind then, those vivid recollections of my welsh husband and another dream, one I had as a child (I’ll talk about this later).

My present husband woke up and he was trying to comfort me, and all I could say is that I had the most awful nightmare - I told him of the grieving woman and the beach, but I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t tell him that I knew she was grieving for her lost husband. I didn’t tell him the woman was me. Poor man, I must have scared him, I know.

About a week before my flight, the dreams changed. I was alone on a large field, near home, walking towards the sea - that was the first time I realized that my little cottage was near the sea. I strolled about - it felt lovely, the weather mild, the air heavy with scent from the earth, the pastures, and the sea. My chores were done - something you just know, when you are enjoying free time after having done your job… . There’s a boulder in front of me, a rather large one, by the edge of a cliff. A man is leaning over it, looking at the sea. I run to him, I feel ever so light. There he is, my sweet husband to be. He looks so young it feels that he could live forever, and I too. He was a quiet young man already… and so intense. I’m in his arms now, looking into his eyes, and there they are, my Gwydion’s eyes, so blue, so warm and bright. I immediately recognised a certain humour, a slightly mischievous look mixed with that dead-serious faithfulness and integrity. I jumped - in my dream and out of my bed too. Whose eyes were those? Gwydion’s?? My welsh husband?? Both?

Later that day I checked my mail and there it was, a message from my welsh friend from the University, a long row of question marks on the subject. I felt queasy as I opened it - she just said hey, have you two met before?????? Gwydion and me, of course. He had been at her office again and kept looking furtively at my photo all the time… She even said that she felt like he had gone there for that sole purpose, all the rest was small talk…. And he doesn’t have that much time for small talk these days, she says. I know he doesn’t. She then told me that she had already asked him the same thing, and he said he didn’t think so in a strange way - so strange she didn’t believe him. I replied saying that we had never met, I would surely remember if we had…

Of course I did remember, more and more, of all the time we had had together before, and I began to accept the fact that somehow he did too.

Have you ever felt like you are being pushed beyond belief? Believing is counterbalanced by the possibility of not believing, it’s a choice. You can choose to believe in reincarnation - or you can have it shoved in your face. That’s what it felt like - not like a choice at all.

On the other hand, I had never felt so empowered, in the sense that I felt my destiny lay in my hands, that my decisions would be “entirely consequential” (Tman.. ) ) I could decide which road to take, and live with it. That’s when I realised, in a more mature way, that empowerment of this kind brings a tremendous burden of responsibility.

My husband was away on business; my boy was having a sleep over at grandma’s. And so I had the day all for myself. I could get some badly needed rest - last night’s dream had kept me awake for hours…

So I took an afternoon nap, which is something I NEVER do, because it gets me cranky. But I felt so, so tired. I was half asleep when I started dreaming again - that’s one way of putting it, anyway. I felt completely conscious, but detached, feeling the dreams and at once being aware that I was dreaming. The house was quiet, and I felt so comfortable, so loose. A wonderful feeling of love and exhilaration filled me, and I travelled back to my cottage, and suddenly I was lying in my “other” bed. There was a smell like straw from the mattress, the sheets were harsh but felt so clean and crispy. I kept my eyes closed and felt my husband by my side, felt his smell, the warmth of his body. I felt tears run down my cheeks, the love was so immense and so profound. I feel his touch, and then I become aware that I’m travelling again, and I want to feel him with me so much, I try to cling to that Moment, but I can’t…. and suddenly I’m at the empty beach again. I’m looking at my own eyes, I am the mourning woman again. Only this time she pauses and looks at me dead on. She/I wasn’t startled at all, but I froze my present self with that look - I was a young woman then too, but my eyes looked old as the ages… as dark as they are now, in this life.

And then I fell out of that trance - back in my room again. I lay there, and I cried and cried, as I felt so very clearly in my heart the message from myself as the woman on the beach. She said nothing, but the way she totally gave herself to that man and their/our love was absolutely hieratic. On contemplating my own feeling and also the loss I had suffered, the significance of my actions appeared to me in yet another shade - how could I risk bringing misery into the life of my dearest love? As good as being reunited could be, damage would come with it. I simply knew that, without the smallest shadow of a doubt. Two families would be torn apart - and having lost him before, I certainly did not wish for that kind of Karma in our eternal lives.

I know, you can say that it wouldn’t have to be like that, but I know I did the right thing. I called my Welsh friend the next day and told her that something unexpected at work had come up and I couldn’t go to Wales. Again. She could hardly believe it, and to this day, although we never talked about it again, I think she knew. She was charming as usual, and said that an old girl like her knows that everything has its own time. She wished me well, and asked me to stay in touch. We have, occasionally.

That night my husband came home and I told him. He looked at me as though a cloud had lifted off his face.

A week later, the event was taking place and I couldn’t even think of it without breaking into tears. My decision had not been peaceful, I’m not that enlightened….

And then his email came:

“I’m sorry you couldn’t be here this time. You will, someday. Love, Gwydion”